


At Borgin and Burkes

by Chthonia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-04
Updated: 2004-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-16 19:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chthonia/pseuds/Chthonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the Malfoys had found Harry in the cabinet at Borgin and Burkes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Borgin and Burkes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hijja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hijja/gifts).



Harry watched nervously as Draco drew nearer and nearer to his hiding place, examining the objects for sale. He paused to examine a long coil of hangman's rope and to read, smirking, the card propped on a magnificent necklace of opals: _Caution: Do Not Touch. Cursed - Has Claimed the Lives of Nineteen Muggle Owners to Date._

Draco turned away and saw the cabinet right in front of him. He walked forward ... he stretched out his hand for the handle...

And opened the door.

Draco jumped back. His eyes went as round as two silver Sickles.

_"Potter?"_

Harry had never wanted his Invisibility Cloak so badly. But he knew he was all too visible, and Draco was standing between him and the door of the shop...

"How many times must I tell you, Draco," his father said, not raising his eyes from the list he was haggling over, "that if I hear that name once more-"

"But Father..."

"You will not interrupt me!" Mr Malfoy snapped. He glanced at his son, and glared at the open cabinet where Harry was standing, half hidden in the shadows. "And I thought I told you not to touch... Ah."

Mr Malfoy's eyes narrowed.

Harry knew he should run for it, but he couldn't seem to make his legs move.

"Tell me, Borgin," Mr Malfoy said very quietly, "is it your normal practice to spy on your customers?"

Mr Borgin brushed back his greasy hair with an unsteady hand. "Er... no, sir, of course not, sir-"

"Then I can only conclude," said Mr Malfoy, "that the boy in that cabinet over there is one of those new items of merchandise you mentioned earlier. What, Borgin, would you consider to be a fitting price for the Boy Who Lived?"

Harry shoved Draco aside and sprinted for the shop door.

_"Colloportus!"_

The door made a sound like a squished Chocolate Frog. Harry wrenched at the handle, but it wouldn't budge.

"Guilty conscience, boy?"

Harry turned to face Draco's father. He was still standing by the shop counter, looking down his long nose. Draco stood beside him, smirking.

Behind the counter, Mr Borgin was wringing his hands. "I- I didn't know he was there, sir, I swear I didn't!"

"You didn't?" said Mr Malfoy. "So, boy. It seems that you owe an explanation to both of us. Come here."

Harry felt a flash of resentment. Uncle Vernon bossing him about was bad enough, but Mr Malfoy had no right at all.

"Don't call me 'boy'!"

"I shall call you what I like," Mr Malfoy replied. "And if I am not satisfied by your excuse for your presence here, I can assure you that it will be something considerably more unpleasant than _boy_."

Harry stayed where he was. The shop window was very dusty, but perhaps someone might look in and come to his rescue - though the witches and wizards outside all seemed to be hurrying along with their heads down. He glanced along the glass cases to either side of him. But there was nowhere to run to.

"What's the matter, Potter?" Draco taunted. "Scared?"

"Should I be?" Harry said, with a defiance he did not quite feel.

Mr Malfoy frowned. "That, boy, rather depends on how quickly you _do what I tell you to do._ " He turned his slender black wand over in his hand. "Of course, having being brought up by your filthy Muggle kin, I suppose you have little experience of what can be done with a wand..."

Much as Harry hated the Dursleys, hearing Mr Malfoy insult them almost made him want to jump to Aunt Petunia's defence. But faced with that cold grey stare, Harry thought that it probably wasn't a good idea. At that moment, he had no trouble at all believing what Fred and George had said about Mr Malfoy.

"So, are you going to come and speak to us, or are you going to make me fetch you?" Mr Malfoy raised an eyebrow. He also raised his wand.

Harry plunged his hand into his pocket and pulled out his own wand. Mr Malfoy sneered.

"Really, boy, what do you think you're going to do with that?"

Harry ignored the question. "Open the door, Mr Malfoy."

"Or you'll do what? Float a feather at me?"

Draco laughed. His father looked pointedly at him and the laughter subsided.

Harry suddenly remembered how badly Hermione had wound Ron up when they'd started learning how to make things fly – and how Ron had used the spell later that day to knock out that enormous troll.

There was a heavy-looking cauldron on a shelf above the counter. If he could only...

_"Wingard-"_

" _Accio_ wand!"

Harry's wand flew out of his hand. Mr Malfoy caught it, peered at it for a moment, and placed it delicately on the counter. He glanced up at the shelf. His lip curled.

"I did _not_ mean that literally, boy," he said. "Now, you will cease this foolishness and come here. Or you will regret it."

Harry swallowed, took one last desperate look out of the window, and walked towards the counter. It felt a little like being on that giant chessboard with Ron and Hermione, except this time he was on his own, facing two pawns and a tall king who definitely wasn't as white as he looked.

Mr Malfoy twisted his hand in the front of Harry's robes and pushed him against the counter. Harry winced as the countertop dug painfully into his back. He heard Draco snicker.

"You have wasted enough of my time," hissed Mr Malfoy. "Now, for the last time, why were you spying on me?"

"I- I wasn't."

"So you make a habit of hiding yourself in a closet, do you?"

For a moment Harry was tempted to tell Mr Malfoy that for ten years of his life he'd only had a cupboard to sleep in, but he wasn't about to say that in front of Draco.

"I got lost."

Mr Malfoy made a small snorting sound. "Indeed. And who lost you, may I ask?"

"I was trying to get to Diagon Alley and, and I've never used Floo powder before and... I came out here."

"You really expect me to believe that you came through the Floo Network from a Muggle house? No, I think it's far more likely that you covered yourself with soot to give you an excuse if you were caught spying. And, may I remind you, you still haven't given me an explanation for that."

"I didn't come from my aunt's house! I was staying with Ron!"

"Ron." Mr Malfoy frowned.

"Ron Weasley, Father," Draco explained.

Mr Malfoy's nostrils flared. "Ah yes, the Weasleys. Those with neither the means nor the influence to obtain a Portkey Permit have to fall back on the plebeian option. So it was Arthur Weasley who sent you here?"

"No!" Harry said desperately. "I told you, it was a mistake!"

"Yes, it was, wasn't it? I'd heard you resembled your father, boy, but I hadn't realised you'd also inherited his talent for turning up at the wrong place at the wrong time."

Harry glared at Mr Malfoy. "You know nothing about my father!"

Mr Malfoy gave him a long, cool look. "Actually, I suspect I know rather more about your father than you do."

Harry could feel his heart thumping. If the man really had been working for Voldemort - something that Harry was becoming more sure of by the minute - perhaps he knew why his parents had been killed.

"Like... like what?" he asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Draco smirking.

"We are not discussing your family history," said Mr Malfoy. "We are discussing your family's unfortunate tendency to meddle in other people's affairs. For example, even if you are telling the truth, and you arrived here by... accident, I believe Mr Borgin's Floo connection is to the fireplace, not that cabinet in which you were hiding?"

Harry couldn't think of anything to say. He decided to tell the truth. He'd never live it down with Draco, but if Mr Malfoy believed him, at least he might get out of here.

"I was about to leave. I saw you coming in. I hid because I... I didn't want to talk to you, that's all. I wasn't meaning to spy."

"You didn't want to talk to me?" He glanced behind him. "Really, Draco. What on earth have you been telling him?"

"Nothing!" Draco looked a bit worried. Harry noted that for future reference. Perhaps he'd be able to make the stupid git shut up next time he started going on about 'My Father'.

Mr Malfoy turned back to Harry.

"So, you claim you weren't 'meaning to' spy. But good intentions are never enough, boy, whatever fairytales Albus Dumbledore might like to spin for you. They do not, for example, absolve you from having to face the - consequences - of your actions."

Behind Harry, Mr Borgin cleared his throat. "Er... Mr Malfoy, sir..."

"Yes?"

"It's just that... well, I do have a business to run, sir. And if the Ministry-"

Mr Malfoy stared over Harry's shoulder. "Are you threatening me?"

"No, sir, of course I'm not-"

"Then, if you are so concerned about the reputation of your 'business', you might like to consider how your regular customers might view your lack of concern about the confidentiality of their transactions, were they to hear of this incident. Now I must ask you to excuse us for a few minutes. Mr Potter and I have a few matters to discuss."

Harry's heart sank as he heard Mr Borgin shuffle away to the back room.

Mr Malfoy let go of Harry's robes.

"Well, boy. As I would hate to draw any... unwelcome attention to Mr Borgin's commercial transactions, I believe I might be inclined to let us... forget this unfortunate event, if you would be willing to answer a few questions for me..."

Harry shrugged. He couldn't think of anything he knew that Mr Malfoy might be interested in. There was the Philosopher's Stone, of course, but that story had been over the whole school before he'd even got out of the hospital wing.

Mr Malfoy nodded. "Very well," he said. "So tell me, how is dear Arthur Weasley these days? It's been such a long time since I last saw him."

Harry stared at Mr Malfoy. He'd heard Mr Malfoy call Ron's dad a 'flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool' only a few minutes before, and the anger he'd felt then surged over him again now.

"You don't care about Mr Weasley, I just heard you slagging him off! Why should I tell you anything?"

Mr Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Because, boy, of what I can do to you if you do not."

"That's right, Potter," said Draco. "You need to mind your mouth when you're talking to your superiors."

"Thank you, Draco." Mr Malfoy glanced at his son. Draco went slightly red.

Mr Malfoy turned his cold grey gaze on Harry. "So, boy, you were listening after all, were you? Even though you 'didn't mean' to spy?"

"I couldn't help it," said Harry sullenly. "It's not like you were whispering."

"Indeed not. And if more decent wizards were willing to speak out about the Ministry's idiotic, Muggle-loving policies, this country wouldn't be going to the Crups! Muggle Protection Act, indeed. It's ridiculous!"

Harry felt it was Mr Malfoy who was being ridiculous. Not that the Dursleys needed protecting from anyone, and old Mrs Figg was even more boring than Professor Binns, but not all Muggles were that bad. Some of his teachers had been quite nice at times, and Hermione's parents sounded okay, even if they did make her eat all that fruit...

"Pay attention, boy!" said Mr Malfoy. "If you could listen to me before, you can listen to me now!"

Harry gave him the fake-attention look he usually reserved for Professor Snape's classes. Mr Malfoy sneered.

"Your upbringing, boy, has obviously but unsurprisingly been gravely defective," he said. "Arthur Weasley is not only a moth-eaten disgrace to the name of wizard, he is a dangerous fool. His proposals threaten to destroy everything we wizards have built up since our ancestors passed the Statute of Secrecy!"

"That's a lie! Mr Weasley would never-"

Mr Malfoy pushed Harry hard against the counter. "Your ignorance is matched only by your insolence," he spat. "And I have time for neither. I believe I enquired about the state of Arthur Weasley's health. Am I to conclude that you're trying to hide something?"

This was like one of those arguments with Uncle Vernon, when Harry was always wrong whatever he said - except there was something about Mr Malfoy that was considerably nastier than Uncle Vernon could ever be. Harry had generally found that telling the truth, or most of the truth, was the safest way to handle this sort of situation, especially when he had no reason to lie. It made it easier to keep his story straight, at least.

"What would I have to hide?" he asked. "Mr Weasley seemed fine to me."

Mr Malfoy smiled. "He's not been... tired, at all?"

"Tired?"

"Yes, boy, _tired_. Didn't your friend tell you that his father spends his nights intruding into other people's homes?"

Harry was confused for a moment, but then he realised. "You're talking about the Ministry raids."

"Clever boy. And what has Arthur told you about them?"

"Er... nothing."

"Really?"

"Well, the day I arrived he said..."

Harry wasn't sure whether he should repeat what Mr Weasley had told them. But then no one had said anything about the raids being secret, and Mr Malfoy obviously knew something about it anyway.

"You were saying?" Mr Malfoy said.

"Well, he mentioned..." Harry screwed up his forehead, trying to remember. "Mortflake? And somebody Fletcher."

"Mundungus?" Mr Malfoy laughed. "So they're even going after their friends?"

"Whose friends?" Harry was confused.

"Never mind. And I suppose he's expecting to be this busy for some time, is he?"

"He didn't say."

That was true - Mr Weasley hadn't said anything about what raids were planned. Harry hoped Mr Malfoy would believe that.

"Hmm." Mr Malfoy gave Harry a searching look. "Well, I'm sure Arthur would love to know that you'd seen me in here today." He smirked, making him look even more like an older, uglier version of Draco. "And I know _I_ would like to see his reaction when he realises that there's nothing he can do about it. Was he planning to accompany you today?"

"Yes." Suddenly Harry thought of something. "They were coming right behind me. So they'll be coming to find me any-"

"Ah," said Mr Malfoy. "But, most unfortunately, they don't know where you are, do they?"

Harry looked at his feet.

Mr Malfoy hooked two fingers under Harry's chin, and lifted his head.

Harry met the older wizard's steady gaze. He'd looked Voldemort in the eye. He wasn't about to hide from Draco's father.

But then, Voldemort hadn't been able to touch him.

"Tell me, boy," Mr Malfoy said quietly. "Exactly which of the Weasleys were supposed to come with you today?"

Harry wondered why Mr Malfoy was so interested in Ron's family. But he couldn't see any harm in answering. Mr Malfoy could always go and see, couldn't he?

"Erm... all of them. All of them who live at home, I mean."

"Including the daughter?"

"Yes, but why-"

"Excellent..." Mr Malfoy smiled. Harry didn't like the look of that smile at all. "Ginevra, I believe her name is?"

Harry said nothing. He didn't know Ginny's full name. He wondered whether he should, but she hadn't exactly given him a chance to ask.

"The first female child to be born to the Weasleys for seven generations..." said Mr Malfoy. "Did you know that?"

But he didn't seem to expect Harry to answer.

Mr Malfoy reached up with his free hand and brushed Harry's hair away from his forehead. Harry squirmed. After eleven years of living with the Dursleys, he wasn't used to being touched at all, except when Dudley punched him.

Mr Malfoy peered at Harry's scar. Then he touched it with a finger, tracing its lightning-bolt shape.

Harry flinched, but - unlike the time Voldemort had touched him - there was no searing pain, just a peculiar tingling. Mr Malfoy's hand twitched. He jerked it away from Harry's head.

"So," he murmured, "this is the Mark that the Dark Lord left. Very interesting... Tell me, boy, what do you know about the Dark Lord?"

It seemed to Harry that there was something more to that question, something that Mr Malfoy had meant but hadn't said. He didn't know what it was - but he didn't care, either.

"Voldemort killed my parents," he said. "That's all I need to know."

Mr Malfoy arched an eyebrow. "Indeed?"

Harry had the feeling that he had just said something rather stupid, but he wasn't sure what.

Mr Malfoy looked thoughtfully at Harry, as if he couldn't quite make up his mind about something. Then he reached into his robe.

Harry watched apprehensively as Mr Malfoy brought out... a book.

It was a small, thin book, with a shabby black cover. Not the sort of book, somehow, that Harry would have expected to see someone like Mr Malfoy carrying around.

Mr Malfoy held it out. Harry looked at it warily.

"Take it," said Mr Malfoy quietly. "Just looking at it won't hurt you."

Harry wondered whether Mr Malfoy meant that it _could_ hurt him, if he did something more than look. He wasn't sure whether it was that thought or something... else... that made him shiver slightly as he took the book in his hands.

It was a diary. On the cover, in faded gold letters, was a date: _1943_. Inside was a name: _T. M. Riddle._ But other than that, there was nothing written in it at all.

He looked up. Mr Malfoy was watching him closely.

Harry turned the diary over. Printed on the back was the name of a newsagents in Vauxhall Road. Harry read the address again, confused. Was this book supposed to mean something to him?

He looked at Mr Malfoy, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

"Why do you have a Muggle diary?"

"A _Muggle_ diary?" Mr Malfoy's lips thinned and for a moment Harry thought he was going to shout at him again. But then he laughed. "Well, if that's all you can say, we needn't expect great things from you, need we?"

That made no sense to Harry. None of it made sense. Why did Mr Malfoy have a Muggle diary that didn't even belong to him? Was 'T. M. Riddle' some Muggle who'd got in Mr Malfoy's way? It was horrible. He felt he should give it back, but he found himself strangely reluctant to do so.

Mr Malfoy snatched it away. "That's not for you," he said. "It's a gift." He smirked. "Call it a token of my appreciation for Arthur Weasley's social aspirations."

He put it away out of sight. Then he picked up Harry's wand from the countertop. 

"Now," he said, "as I've shown you something of mine, I'm sure you won't mind if I have a look at this in return?"

He examined it closely. Harry felt a little uncomfortable. Each wand chose its wizard, after all, and somehow it didn't quite feel right to let someone else handle it.

And he couldn't help feeling there was something about that diary he ought to know, something he ought to remember. Especially if it had anything to do with his best friend's dad. He tried to fix an exact picture of it in his mind, so he could tell Mr Weasley. He knew he'd recognise it if he ever saw it again.

"Holly, I believe," Mr Malfoy said. "And some kind of feather. I can't quite make out what, though. Would you care to enlighten me?"

Harry didn't care to at all. He'd never even told Ron what Mr Ollivander had said about his wand, and he certainly didn't want to tell Mr Malfoy.

"Swan," he said, naming the first bird that came into his head.

"Don't lie to me, boy. Even if a swan were magical enough to focus the power, no swan feather would fit into a wand this size."

Harry sighed. He glanced at Draco. Draco scowled back. He was watching Harry and Mr Malfoy with his arms folded, but there was no sign of his earlier smirk.

"Phoenix," Harry said flatly.

There was no way he was about to say which Phoenix. He hoped Mr Malfoy wouldn't think to ask.

"Ah," said Mr Malfoy. His mouth twisted in an odd smile. "Most enlightening indeed."

He gave the wand back to Harry. Harry put it back in his pocket, where Mr Malfoy couldn't touch it.

Mr Malfoy rang the bell on the counter. After a few seconds, Mr Borgin appeared, looking relieved to see Harry in one piece. Harry wondered if he'd been listening.

"Now, Borgin," Mr Malfoy said, ignoring Harry, "I believe we still had some items to consider?"

Mr Borgin adjusted his pince-nez and peered at Mr Malfoy's parchment list. "Certainly, Mr Malfoy."

"I am now in something of a hurry, Borgin, thanks to our ... intruder." Mr Malfoy glared at Harry. "So I'm minded to let you have the rest of these items for a - reasonable - price. In recognition of our long, and I hope ongoing, association."

"Certainly, Mr Malfoy," said Mr Borgin, sounding rather more sincere this time.

Mr Malfoy glanced at Harry. "Out of the way, boy." He pushed Harry to the end of the counter.

Harry watched as the two wizards haggled, trying to hear the names of the potions and artefacts they were discussing. He didn't recognise any of them, but even the sound of the names made him shudder.

Finally, Mr Malfoy rolled up his list. "Good," he said. "I trust I need hardly remind you that my future custom - and that of my ... friends - rests solely on your discretion?"

"But of course, Mr Malfoy sir."

Mr Malfoy nodded curtly and turned to Harry.

"Back in the cabinet, boy," he said, pointing.

Harry stared. Hadn't Mr Malfoy said that he could go if he answered the questions?

"But-"

"Don't argue with me. I don't have time for it." He pointed his wand threateningly at Harry.

Harry glanced at the shop door. But even if he could reach it, he'd still have to open it. He wondered whether that weird unlocking charm of Hermione's was strong enough to break Mr Malfoy's spell.

"I said, get into the cabinet!" Mr Malfoy hissed. He seized Harry by the front of his robes and shoved him across the room. 

Harry looked quickly into the corners of the cabinet as Mr Malfoy pushed him inside, but he couldn't see anything that might be useful. He fervently hoped that Mr Malfoy was wrong about the Weasleys not being able to find him.

"Straighten your robes, boy," Mr Malfoy ordered, looking down his nose at Harry. His expression was remarkably like the one Aunt Petunia tended to wear when she called Harry to get spiders out of the bathtub.

Harry tugged at his robe, feeling carefully for his wand. Mr Malfoy was blocking his way out of the cabinet, but Harry thought that he might be able to hit him with a Leg‑Locker Curse. If he could push him over and run for it before Draco and Mr Borgin had time to react, he might be able to get away... The thought of having to fight them all made him feel slightly sick, but he knew that if Mr Malfoy was breaking his promise to let Harry go, it was far worse to do nothing. And there was no way Harry was going to let people like the Malfoys push him around.

He slipped his hand into his pocket.

Mr Malfoy grabbed Harry's wrist and twisted it away from his wand. Harry glared up at him. Mr Malfoy's expression was hidden in shadow.

"I would advise you not to cross me, Harry Potter," he said quietly.

Harry wished that Mr Malfoy would let go.

After a few seconds, he did. He walked to the counter without a backward glance and drawled, "Close the door, Draco."

Harry glowered at Draco as he pushed the door closed, leaving Harry in darkness except for a thin line of light from the crack in the door.

Through the crack Harry could see Draco's smirking face. Behind him, Mr Malfoy raised his wand. Harry lunged for the door. And Mr Malfoy shouted, _"Obliviate!"_

Draco's face slackened...

...and then a colourless wave crashed over Harry as everything went black-

Harry blinked. Draco gave the cabinet door a puzzled look. He stepped forward... he stretched out his hand for the handle...

"Done," said Mr Malfoy at the counter. "Come, Draco!"

Harry wiped his forehead on his sleeve as Draco turned away.


End file.
